Urusei, Pompeii!
by Starkiller
Summary: AU. Yuuri was once a citizen of Pompeii before disaster took his life. Now in the present, Yuuri must confront conflicting feelings when the reincarnation of his past love transfers to his school: the pompous male idol, Wolfram von Bielefeld.LoveTriangle
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This fic could be summed up with "how to cram every known anime cliché into one story", haha! This KKM fic was inspired by the manga NG Life (that and a very inspiring trip to Pompeii, which I recommend you visit if ever you get the chance!).

**Summary****: **AU. Yuuri was once a citizen of Pompeii before disaster took his life. Now in the present, Yuuri must confront conflicting feelings when the reincarnation of his past lover transfers to his school: the pompous and very male idol, Wolfram von Bielefeld. With the reincarnations of past friends and enemies from his past emerging, Yuuri must decide whether his heart belongs to the past or the present.

**Pairing: **Wolfram x Yuuri x Hashimoto Asami (Yuuri's girlfriend from the KKM novels)**  
**

* * *

**Present life****:** Shibuya Yuuri**  
Past life:** Julius Nero (meaning: July). Male / 16 / slave and aspiring gladiator

**Present life:** Murata Ken**  
Past life: **Saggio (meaning: wise). Male / 21 / City planner, tutor and Julius' owner

**Present life:** Wolfram von Bielefeld**  
Past life:** Auralia Lupus (meaning: golden wolf). Female / 16 / noble woman

* * *

**Urusei, ****Pompeii!**

_August 24th, 79 AD_

_1.00pm_

There was a vibration beneath his feet. It tickled the curve of his arches, travelling right up his shins to rattle his knees, and a roar like nothing he had ever heard in Nature went rolling beneath the city, quickly followed by a hot gust of wind surging down the street towards him, strong enough to bang shutters and topple a vendor's sign.

Suddenly, the world was a soundless place, as if everything and everyone had held its breath at this dry kiss of death. The fear and strangeness of it all was almost hypnotic; the running and fleeing could wait. Now, the people were simply transfixed, interested; happy, even, to be united by this sudden odd occurrence. Men, women and children gathered in the street around him, heads bent together in excited chatter, a trickle of frightened sobs puncturing the growing crowd.

And then the mountain split like thunder cracking the sky, and all was panic and death.

Horses turned, their hooves a blaze of fire along the cobbled roads. The rims of a chariot's wheels sent up sparks as the rider slashed the reigns wildly, followed by the scream of a merchant and the sickening crack that followed as his back broke beneath the vehicle. Panic spread faster than the vast black wall of cloud descending on the city. The air grew hot and poisonous. Those who tripped in the crowds did not get up again as people fled blindly for the shore. And Julius could only watch as the world unravelled around him; fire and heat and choking ash, screams and madness, because nothing was as it should be anymore. The Gods had tilted the world wildly on its axis - it was all too much, too big for him to comprehend. So he stood there, rooted to the spot, the soles of his feet still tingling with the vibrations as Vesuvius tore Saggio's streets like papyrus.

When his mind began to run again and his eyes started to comprehend the meaning of that impossibly vast black cloud, Julius threw himself into the streaming river of panic, but he had no intention of moving with it towards the seagate. His friends were somewhere in the north of the city. Comus and Baldo; Saggio, Liliana, Reta; the occupants of the House of Lupus and Aegeus. But most of all…

Julius had to get to her – _had_ to. They had promised to meet after all and what would she do to him if he broke his promise? The Gods' wrath was nothing in comparison to her anger, he thought, imagining her reaction to his excuses.

'_Wimp! Idiot! Vesuvius explodes and suddenly you can't make it? I won't stand for your lousy excuses, you wretched coward!'_

His heart screamed and he fought madly against the stampeding crowd. An elbow struck his temple, _hard_, and vaguely he was aware of a wetness running down one side of his face. The stampede had become a solid impassable mass of bodies jostling and elbowing, pushing and screaming. His sandals caught on something large, soft and warm – a body, trampled beneath the fleeing citizens. With the sickening realisation came the fear of that awful fate; to be dragged deep down beneath the crowds, lost and forgotten. Julius struggled to a halt, sweat dripping from his brow. He couldn't let that person remain there and be trampled on as if it were nothing more than a sack of potatoes. He tried to swoop down to reach the body, the tips of his fingers barely brushing the fallen man's woollen tunic, when a body collided heavily with him and he was thrown sideways, winded.

Ash began to rain down on Pompeii, followed swiftly by clumps of lethal molten rock, the grey cinders draining the city of colour and blotting out the sun. The screaming crowd swallowed him whole as he fell, like a great gaping maw into Tartarus…

**oOo**

"…And then you woke up?" Murata finished, tapping his pencil against his chin absent-mindedly.

Yuuri moaned half-heartedly as he dropped his forehead onto the back of his chair, sulking. His body still tingled with the shock and sick swooping in his belly after waking up that morning, drenched from head to foot in sweat.

"Mmh. The more I dream, the more vivid everything becomes. Especially of _that_ day."

Murata nodded pityingly and patted the other's shoulder. "It must be difficult dreaming through drawn out scenes from a mediocre disaster movie every night."

Yuuri's right eye twitched. "It's not a movie!" he whined, banging a fist down on his friend's desk. "This was my past life!"

"Hai, hai, you've mentioned that once or twice in the past five minutes," Murata sighed, waving him off with an airy hand. He pushed his black horn-rimmed glasses further up his nose with a pleasant smile. "Also, could you shout a little louder please? I think a couple of classes on the other side of the school might have missed your screaming dulcet tones, Shibuya-kun."

Yuuri flushed and mumbled something incomprehensibly apologetic, glancing around at the few curious stares his little outburst had earned. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, then stuck an accusatory finger in the centre of Murata's chest, scowling. "_Still_. You're not taking me seriously."

Murata sniffed and shook his head. "Now Shibuya, why would I take you seriously? That would take all the fun out of life."

Yuuri paused, fists clenched on his friend's desk, and peered fiercely at the other's face: the face that was always smiling and open and pleasant on the outside; the face of the popular class president who was everyone's acquaintance and no one's friend. But Yuuri knew the real Murata Ken.

He scowled. "Murata. You really are a demon, aren't you?"

The class president cocked his dark head to the side like a bird and the sunlight streaming through the classroom window reflected off his glasses, turning his bright smile sinister. He wagged a finger in Yuuri's face. "_That – is – a – secret._"

Yuuri cringed and his right eye twitched again. _'I was right. He's the devil incarnate._'

Still, whether he liked it or not, Murata Ken was his only confidante; the only one who knew about the memories Yuuri had of his past life. He turned his gaze to the floor and said quietly, "You know I'm not mad, Murata. You believe me too. That day... the first day we met-"

"When I called you Julius?" the other boy interjected, tapping his pencil against his chin again, plainly enjoying dragging the conversation out. "That was the name of your past self, right? Well, it could have been a complete fluke, of course. A funny coincidence."

Yuuri cocked an eyebrow in distrust, then seemed to visibly deflate into his chair. He sighed, concern colouring his expression, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you think I'm going crazy?"

"That is the most logical answer."

"Oi, oi. What kind of supportive answer is that?"

Murata shrugged casually. "The truth."

Yuuri clenched his jaw, determined not to lose this battle of wits. "Well if I'm crazy, then you are too!"

Murata was unfazed. "I'm not crazy. I'm eccentric."

"What's the difference?"

"Often a jail sentence."

"_Mu-ra-taaa!_" Yuuri growled, warningly.

Murata cupped his own chin in his hands and beamed. "Heee, okay, okay! Calm down, Shibuya-kun. Can't you take a joke?"

Yuuri folded his arms and shook his head firmly. "No. Absolutely not. Not about this."

It had begun four years ago. Shibuya Yuuri, a painfully average student with a love of baseball and the remarkable inability to attract even the slightest female attention, was nearing his twelfth birthday and preparing to enter Middle School when the memories had begun to trickle into his head like rainwater. They started as dreams like any other: short flashes and glimpses of a story, a world two thousand years ago, an ancient Roman Empire, a young man growing up in the beautiful city of Pompeii. But as the days and weeks went on, the dreams became more than vague, detached images that he could wake up from and forget. A whole lifetime began to carve its way into his head and heart. These weren't dreams, but memories of a past life when he had been born in 61 AD as Julius Nero, a plebeian and free man, until his parents sold him into slavery.

Each night as he drifted off to sleep, smells and sounds came back to him: spices in the market, the clatter of chariot wheels on cobbled roads, long dry grass and olive groves in summer, and the feel of the cool smooth stone of the temple pillars beneath his heated palm. He could even remember every detail of the long days spent training in the palaestra with Baldo and Comus.

In the second year of Middle School, Yuuri had met Murata Ken quite by accident. On his way back home from school, he had found the be-speckled boy cornered by three leering bullies. His clumsy rescue attempt had left Yuuri with a black eye, a missing bike and the horrible realisation that not only did he _know_ Murata Ken from the past, Murata Ken was Saggio: Julius' slave owner.

'_Immoral creep__,'_ he brooded silently. Not that Saggio had been a bad slave owner. He had been much like Murata was today – near identical in looks and personality. Just like Murata, Saggio had been a highly respected figure in Pompeii who oversaw the care of the city roads.

Most interesting of all, Murata was not the only familiar face from Yuuri's past life, but he was the only one who retained his memories, as he did.

"Aww, come now Shibuya, don't be mad. A good joke is like a miniskirt. Short and to the point."

"Pervert," Yuuri muttered.

He glanced up as the bell signalling the start of class rang through the school and more students began to file into the classroom. It was the first day of his second year in high school, but somehow he didn't feel excited. Instead he kept a careful vigil on the new faces milling around the classroom, desperately trying to recall if he had known any of them in his past life. When his memories first returned, it hadn't taken Yuuri long to realise that his older brother, Shori, was the reincarnation of the beautiful, proud and busty head worker in Saggio's household (Yuuri secretly wondered if Shori's dislike of Murata came from a deep-rooted knowledge that he had once been Saggio's slave). But Shori, and others like him, appeared to have no knowledge of his past life, so why did he?

"Ne…Murata?" Yuuri began quietly. "Why can't anyone else remember their past lives? Why are we the only ones? So many people from that time surround me, but I can't talk to them about it."

Murata Ken smiled and then straightened his back, his bright face turning calm and sympathetic. "I'm not sure. Everyone takes the precious memories of their past lives with them when they pass on, but those memories are buried deep within. Having access to those memories isn't a natural thing, Shibuya." He leaned over and put a gently hand on his friend's shoulder. "The past is the past. We cannot indulge ourselves in memories that might destroy the present."

Yuuri eyes were downcast. "I know…but…"

"But?" A corner of Murata's mouth lifted slightly. "But you can't stop thinking about that one person. Right?"

Yuuri scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortably. "I keep thinking if I've been able to meet you again, maybe I'll be able to meet her. You know, like fate or something." He paused and grinned bashfully. "But then I think, 'doesn't that sound like the plot of a cheesy manga?'"

"It _is_ the plot of a cheesy manga. Several, I believe," Murata replied, then he waved a hand in the air impatiently. "Besides that, I don't believe in the Fates. Or any gods who wield power over people's fortune, for that matter," he grunted moodily, and for a moment Yuuri thought he saw a shadow cross his friend's normally calm face. But the moment passed quickly and Murata brightened. "Shibuya-kun, don't get caught up in the past. Especially not today. We're in a new class, with new teachers and…" He paused to lean forward and whisper conspiratorially. "_Lots of new girls!_ Ahhh, check out Daidoji! Oh, and Haruka-chan. She's so cute! And if you angle your chair juuuust right, you can see her panti-"

"Ehh? S-Stop that, don't look!" Yuuri hissed and gave his friend a withering stare. "You have no tact."

"And you haven't had a girlfriend in 2000 years," the class president pouted. "Prude."

Yuuri was about to point out that Murata hadn't had a girlfriend in two millennia either, when a wave of excited whispers rushed through the class.

"_Ah__, Sangria! Who is that? He's gorgeous!"_

"_He looks foreign__, look at his hair – he can't be from Japan. How romantic…"_

"_AH! No, it can't be! It's __that famous idol – I can't believe there's a pop idol in our school!"_

"_Lucky! Ne, ne, Doria - do you think he'll need someone to show him around the school?"_

Yuuri winced as he glanced at the crowd of girls and guys grouping around the new transfer student, feeling his slight inferiority complex already heightening. Yuuri was completely average in every way. Unkempt black hair, black eyes, average looks, average height, little to no muscle. He wasn't particularly popular, but neither was he unpopular enough to be deemed an interesting loner. His passion for baseball vastly outweighed his skills in the sport, the majority of the season spent as a benchwarmer, and his grades were neither poor nor exceptional. So if there was one thing he couldn't stand, if there was one thing Yuuri couldn't help but _hate, _it was a _bishounen_ – a "pretty boy" who got all the girls cooing and hanging off their arms. And to top that, he was already some ridiculous pop idol? Life wasn't fair. Yuuri couldn't even see the new transfer student for all the girls gathered around him, but he disliked him already. Really, he might not have been as girl-crazy as Murata, but he certainly had an invested interest in the fairer sex. Just who did this damn bastard think he was, striding into his school with his fame and foreign good looks, distracting all the girls? As if he really needed _more_ competition! What a complete jer-

Then Yuuri's train of thought ended as the transfer student pushed past the crowd of fans by the door, and his heart crept into his mouth as his eyes settled on the angel before him. Prettier than any girl, the boy's fair skin looked almost transparent and his tousled blonde hair was brighter than the sun. His deep green eyes, though narrowed with irritation, were like the bottom of a glassy lake. But for all that he was beautiful, there was no mistaking him for a girl. He walked with almost military precision towards a seat by the window – the seat directly in front of Yuuri.

And suddenly he knew. He _knew_ this person. His eyes glazed and his limbs suddenly felt light and airy, as if they weren't his to move anymore. Even his lips seemed to move of their own accord. "_Auralia…_"

"Huh? What'd you say, Shibuya?" Murata asked, but as he glanced up his expression hardened. "Er…Shibu-"

"_Auralia_," Yuuri murmured, his eyes clouding over slightly as he stumbled to his feet half in trance, with a giddy smile on his face.

"Eh-AH! Shibuya, wait!" Murata tensed and dived for his friend, but it was too late. He could only watch as his friend leapt, arms sprawling.

"AURALIA!"

The blonde boy turned with a raised eyebrow, his pretty face still marred by irritation, when a pair of arms flung around him and a body collided with his, pinning his arms to his sides and hugging him tightly to the other's chest.

"Auralia! Ah, I'm so glad! I've missed you – I knew it, this means the gods have fated us to be together – thank goodness, thank-"

Yuuri's declaration was swiftly put to an end by a fist crunching into the side of his jaw, the force of the blow throwing him off his feet. He landed with a painful _thump_ at Murata's feet and glanced up, his head feeling distinctly clearer. Above him, the blonde was panting with barely contained rage, his fists clenched and green eyes blazing.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" The blonde thrust his thumb into his own chest and glowered. "I'm a _guy,_ you pervert!"

"Wait, what? Who are you calling a pervert?" Yuuri stammered, angrily.

Murata bent down to place his hands on Yuuri's shoulders. "Well he has a point, Shibuya. You did try to molest him."

Blood rushed from Yuuri's face and he laughed nervously. "Hahaha, you're kidding right?" He looked into Murata's eyes, but the other only shook his head and smiled pityingly. Trembling, Yuuri turned back to the fuming blonde boy towering over him. He vaguely remembered the blood drumming in his ears and the overwhelming desire to hold the girl he had once loved in his arms again.

He blinked, unable to quite believe his eyes. This was Auralia: this blonde, foul-mouthed, angry pretty boy before him was the love of his past life.

'_No, no, NO!_' his mind cried, recoiling._ 'This isn't right! This isn't how Fate was supposed to intervene.'_ The love of his past life – his ideal dream woman – she was supposed to be reincarnated as a pretty girl and they would be reunited in the spring under the falling cherry blossoms, or after a victorious game of baseball in which she would run onto the field and into Yuuri's arms, and the crowds would cheer. She was NOT meant to be a… a … _guy!_

"But you can't be a guy," Yuuri cried, scrambling to his feet again and pointing a finger at the blonde. "There's no way _you_ can be a guy!"

He saw the blonde flinch, momentarily taken aback. Then his face grew thunderous and his fist clenched, and Yuuri woke up in the infirmary an hour later.

* * *

**A/N:** Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! I'll attempt to update this fic weekly seeing as the chapter length will remain about the same. Feedback is always appreciated!

**Glossary**

**Palaestra****:** The palaestra was the ancient Greek wrestling school. The events that did not require a lot of space, such as boxing and wrestling, were practiced there. The palaestra functioned both independently and as a part of public gymnasia; a palaestra could exist without a gymnasium, but no gymnasium could exist without a palaestra. (Wiki text)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**Thank you so much for the reviews! This chapter will introduce Hashimoto Asami - please note, she's not an OC, but Yuuri's canon girlfriend from the novels - she only appears in Novel 9 and is really just a minor character who demands to be his girlfriend, but I still like what we see of her. I think you can read novel 9 on Livejournal. Anyways, to the review replies!

**Wolfieyuu:**It is indeed a bit of a love triangle (or a love quadruple really, because it goes something like Wolfram x Hashimoto x Yuuri x Saralegui LOL! But fear not, this is Wolfyuu first and foremost! Also, I'm really glad you're enjoying the history bits. I study history and love reading up on Pompeii, so I couldn't resist writing this fic. A quarter of each chapter will be dedicated to a scene of Yuuri and Wolfram's life in Pompeii.

**rinoakim:**Call it divine justice for all the crap he puts Wolfram through in KKM, haha! Thank you so much for the kind review. :D

**Chibi Chiisu:**Of course I am, you know I'm a gigantic nerd of epic porportions =p Yes, I'm not a fan of Conyuu either. Just seems like another cliche seme x uke pairing to keep the yaoi fangirls happy. Hope you like this chappy mate and thank you for the review!

**Elle:**Hurr hurr, fear not - there will be plenty more awkward fondling moments between Wolf and Yuuri like that. XD I'm hoping to finish this fic off in 15 chapters and I'll be updating weekly. Definitely won't leave it unfinished. :D

**Reader-Reviewer:** Thank you so much for such a kind review! I'm glad you like the way I write Murata. I didn't expect to enjoy writing him so much, but I do. I really, REALLY do. In fact there is far too much Murata in this story now as a result (I've planned all the plot out XD). Plus there will be a Murata x Shinou pairing for any fans out there ;)

* * *

**CAST  
**

**Present life****:** Shibuya Yuuri**  
Past life:** Julius Nero (meaning: July). Male / 16 / slave and aspiring gladiator

**Present life:** Murata Ken**  
Past life: **Saggio (meaning: wise). Male / 21 / City planner, tutor and Julius' owner

**Present life:** Wolfram von Bielefeld**  
Past life:** Auralia Lupus (meaning: golden wolf). Female / 16 / noble woman

**Present life:** Saralegui  
**Past Life:** Lucius (meaning: light). Male / 21 / aedile of Pompeii

* * *

**Urusei, Pompeii!**

_April 1st, 77 AD_

_2 Years before the eruption_

Luxury and decadence, thought Julius. The sapphire bay of Naples, from Cumae along the curving coast through Misenum, Neapolis, Herculaneum, and finally Pompeii, was a magnet for the rich and wealthy. And wherever the rich and wealthy were, the hustlers and dealers would come crawling soon after, like hungry dogs on the heels of their masters. Julius had been glad when his master Saggio had announced they were leaving Rome for the coast. He had thought they were leaving the greed and treachery of city life behind for good, but five minutes in Pompeii and he could see it was no different here than anywhere else.

"Ah, Julius!" Saggio suddenly exclaimed. "Isn't this the most romantic city you've ever visited in your life? Look at all the pretty girls! They told me beauty was as common as olive trees in Pompeii, but I never believed them. Ahhh, the Gods are merciful!"

Julius followed his master's gaze to the opposite side of the street and laughed despite himself. A large cock and balls had been carefully crafted into the wall, evidently pointing towards a series of brothels lining an adjoining alleyway. At the mouth of the alleyway, a group of exotically dressed young men and women were selling their 'wares'. Beside them dealers lined the harbour walls, selling exotic silks, Oriental spices, monkeys, parrots, horses, slaves – the list was endless. Julius ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed. It seemed a man could buy anything in the harbour of Pompeii. Saggio on the other hand drank it all in like a child, with hungry, glittering eyes. It always amazed Julius how a man famed for his incredible intellect and wisdom could be so utterly naïve.

"And you know Julius," Saggio continued importantly, "when I am elected aedile of the city, I will make Pompeii shine brighter than Venus."

"_When_ you become…?" Julius repeated with surprise, all the while keeping a careful pace behind his master. Then he grinned broadly. "I see. Saggio is the type of person who thinks positively to the extent of being stupid."

Saggio turned with a pout, puffing his cheeks out like a petulant child. "Oi oi, is that any way to talk to your master and future aedile of Pompeii?" he tutted, wagging a finger.

But Julius only responded with a withering stare. "If you start to act like a proper master then I'll treat you like one."

"But I could never do that!" the older man whimpered and flung his arms around Julius' head, nuzzling his hair with animated affection. "Julius is my oldest, dearest friend! Besides that, you're too adorable."

"O-Oi, get off me! People are looking!" Julius grunted, shoving him off with a red face. "You can't act like that here," he whispered harshly. "If you want to win the elections in two years you have to gain respect. For example, you shouldn't be walking the streets with one slave. You shouldn't be _walking_ the streets at all. You should have taken a litter or at least a carriage."

Saggio's eyes softened. "But how can a politician or architect work without knowing the lay of the land? I need to know the city and its people intimately, if I am to fully repair the damage the earthquake did. Besides," he pointed across the street, eagerly. "I want to buy a monkey!"

Julius faltered then muttered with half-hearted laugh, "Actually, if you want to win elections you might have to change your entire personality."

Saggio examined him carefully with wide, curious eyes that looked all too deceptively innocent, cocking his head to one side like a bird. "Oh? Hmm… Ok then. I'll start by throwing you to the eels!"

"Ah, _no-no!_ You don't have to go that far," he muttered hastily, backing up when a scream caught his attention.

A grubby child who had hopped onto the road with a small dog close on her heels had just stumbled in front of a moving carriage. Moments before the child was trampled, the pair of horses pulling the carriage reared and whinnied in fright when the small dog began viciously snapping at their legs.

Julius and Saggio stopped to watch with a small crowd as the driver of the carriage, too heavily armed to function as driver alone, climbed down from his seat and kicked the dog away.

"_Yuuram!_" the child cried, clutching the small dog to her chest. She glared fiercely at the armed driver, lashing out at him with a kick. "Don't you ever touch him again!"

The driver stared at the street urchin impassively, then reached down to fist his hand in her short hair, dragging her out of the street.

Julius grit his teeth as anger bubbled through him. It was no good in situations like these; he could never just turn his back on something like this.

"No. Stop. Don't go. You'll only ask for more trouble," Saggio hummed to himself, rocking on the heels of his sandals with the bored tone of someone who had repeated this line a thousand times before.

"That person can't just get away with throwing some poor kid around. OI! You!" he hollered, leaping down from the high pavement onto the road and began storming towards the carriage. Julius realised with a small gulp that the driver in question was much taller and broader in the shoulder up close. Hardening his resolve, he drew himself up in a desperate attempt to seem taller, which was hard for a scrawny 14 year old slave. "L-Leave the kid alone, it was only an accident. What you're doing is on the verge of illegality!"

The driver turned his eerily impassive eyes on Julius without letting go of the squirming child's hair. Now face to face with this man, Julius was sure he was going to die. The man was a giant – a _titan_. His long black hair was as straight as a blade and his bronze skin barely stretched over the thick muscles of his forearms and legs. Two swords hung from his belt, but Julius had the sick feeling the man was concealing any number of weapons on his person. Heck, he looked like a weapon himself!

"Berias?"

A delicate red silk curtain drew back from the carriage and a pale face peered outwards, long strands of blonde hair spilling out of the door like liquid gold. Hazel eyes rested on Julius and the latter swallowed thickly at their intense gaze. He had never seen such a beautiful person before.

"This child ran in front of your carriage, my lord," the driver, Berias, answered obediently.

"I don't see why that is any reason to treat her so unkindly, Berias. Let her go."

Berias immediately did as instructed and the girl fell to the ground with a thump. She didn't wait around, scrambling away with her dog still clutched to her chest. Julius watched her go with pitying eyes and vaguely wondered where she was running to – if she _had_ anywhere to run to…

A young man, who could not have been much older than Julius himself, delicately stepped out of the carriage, a simple but expensive ivory toga flowing after him. He smiled kindly, but somehow it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"That was quite a brave thing you did," said the man, eyeing him thoughtfully. "There aren't many who would stand up to my guard, here. What is your name?"

"Julius Nero, sir," he answered, bowing quickly.

"Ah, please don't bow. I've never cared for formalities," the boy said, smiling sweetly. "You may call me Lucius-"

"Lucius Orpheus Secundus," Saggio finished for him, crossing the road towards the carriage. "Apologies for the interruption, my lord. I take full responsibility for the actions of my slave. I'm afraid my heart is too soft when it comes to children."

Lucius looked momentarily surprised, but the moment was short lived. He inclined his head towards Saggio, still smiling a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Saggio, my dear friend, it is wonderful to see you again. I judge you are enjoying your first week in Pompeii?"

"It is a fine city, my lord," Saggio replied in measured tone, "and it could be finer still."

Julius shivered – the air felt icy and hostile between his master and this young man, as if a silent, unseen battle of wills was raging between them. He noted with interest how Saggio's entire body language had changed. No longer was he the ridiculous, perverted, fool. He had donned his politician's smile in the face of this Lucius boy and he wore it flawlessly. Still, Julius had known his master long enough to know that something was amiss. He could tell by the tightness of his smile that Saggio did not merely distrust Lucius; he _loathed_ him.

The gentle banter continued for a few minutes longer before Lucius sent them one final saccharin sweet smile and climbed back into his carriage.

"It was very good to see you again, Saggio." The boy's hazel eyes fell on Julius again with unsettling intensity. "And you, Julius. It would be my pleasure to invite you both to dinner in my villa one evening. I shall send word once you are settled."

And with a final smile, Lucius let the silk drape fall, concealing his features. A whip cracked and the carriage began to move.

"Who was that?" Julius asked, surprised at the now evident look of distaste on Saggio's face.

"Lucius Orpheus Secundus. One of the current aediles of Pompeii." His dark eyes narrowed as the carriage trundled away from the harbour and out of sight. "Be careful here, Julius," he murmured. "Not all cockroaches come out at night."

**oOo**

_Present Day_

"That Wolfram certainly has a mean right hook," said a blurry figure leaning over him. "Knocked you out cold with one hit! Had all the girls swooning every which way." The blurred figure paused and added musingly, "And some guys too."

"Mu-Murata?" In a rippling display of sheer muscle power, Shibuya Yuuri forced his eyelids open, wincing at the blades of white sunlight creeping between the infirmary's window blinds. His throat was bone dry and he could taste blood in his mouth. "Uhhg, water please."

"Welcome to the world of the living, sleeping beauty," Murata said, beaming, and handed him a glass of water from the bedside table.

Yuuri pushed himself up against the pillows, instantly regretting the movement when a flash of electric pain shot through his skull. He accepted the glass of water and took a thirsty gulp, gasping as the tepid liquid ran down his throat. "Ah! I thought I was dead," he spluttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What did that stuck up prince hit me with? A sack of bricks?"

"You hit your head on the desk when you fell. The school nurse said you probably have a slight concussion," Murata casually explained, as if he were describing the weather.

Yuuri glared. Would it kill him to sound a little more concerned? "Some how I feel all this is your fault, Class President."

Murata feigned a hurt expression. "Shibuya-kun, that hurts. How could you suggest such a thing? I suppose I'll forgive you this time because you have a concussion and clearly don't know what you're saying," he said, giving Yuuri a patronising and non-too-gentle pat on the head.

Yuuri flung his arms over his head in defence. "Ow-ow, Murata!"

"Now say '_Sooorry'_."

Yuuri scowled. "Murata...I'm sorry. Sorry I ever let you into my life to rob me of my best years before leaving me a burnt out husk."

Murata clapped his hands together, grinning. "Apology accepted! Come on, we're running late." He tapped his wristwatch for emphasis. "You've been out for a while now, school has just ended. I called your parents at work and promised them I'd see you home safely."

Yuuri pouted, feeling slightly ashamed of himself for fainting and missing an entire day's classes just because some pretty boy decided to slap him around a bit. "You don't need to do that, I can manage just fine by myself."

"Oh?" Murata's glasses glinted dangerously as he pushed them further up the bridge of his nose. "In that case you won't mind if the nurse contacts your brother instead. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to hear that his precious little brother was in a fight and needs his urgent assistan-"

"I'm up, I'm up!" Yuuri yelled, scrambling out of the bed and hauling the class president to the door. "Let's just go already. Geez. How low can you get, threatening me with Shori?" He shuddered at how his brother might react if he discovered he had gotten into a fight.

"The end justifies the means, Shibuya-pipi!" Murata replied, brightly.

"That's what you always say when you've done something terrible. And don't call me Shibuya-pipi or people will get the wrong idea!"

Murata only whistled innocently, pretending not to hear him. Yuuri narrowed his eyebrows and glared at the other's back.

_'He really is the devil.'_

**oOo**

"PLAY BALL!"

It was the spring of his 16th year and the cherry blossom trees were raining petals around the school campus. The sun was high and the baseball season was in full swing, so to speak. Yuuri clung miserably to the high fence surrounding the pitch and watched his club practising with the look of a kicked puppy. His head still pounded, but the familiar sounds of the court were like a lullaby to Yuuri: the coach's quick orders, the satisfying crack of bat against ball, the thud of running feet kicking up dust.

Murata smiled pityingly. "It's just a few days, Shibuya. Your head will be right as rain by Wednesday and you can get back to playing."

"A few days?" Yuuri gawked then wilted against the fence. How could he miss a few days of practise? Baseball was his life - his passion! He could barely stand missing one day, never mind several.

"Look on the bright side," Murata continued and patted his friend's black-clad shoulder, "this will give us more free time during the afternoon to work on our history project."

Yuuri shot him an incredulous look. "On what planet is that a bright side?" He clung to the fence again, gazing longingly. "That stuck up pretty boy. Why did he have to go and punch me anyway? I just made a little mistake."

Murata tapped his index finger against his chin in thought. "Well you know, if you suddenly fondled me I'd probably hit you too. Unless you were a pretty girl. Or at the very least wearing a dress." He turned to Shibuya, brightly. "Ne? Would you be wearing a dress?"

Yuuri wisely ignored him. "It was an honest mistake. He just looks...so like..."

"Auralia?" Murata finished for him. "Mmh, yes, he does, doesn't he? Uncanny, really." His glasses flashed in the sunlight as he clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head towards the blue sky. "Lucky, you, Shibuya. After all, you always did say if you ever crossed paths with Auralia in this life, you'd definitely marry her."

"What?" Yuuri blinked, surprise momentarily forcing the air of out his lungs. "Ahhhg, Murata - don't tease me in this moment of tragedy! He's a guy – we're both guys. That's not…it's not _normal_." Suddenly Yuuri sprang to life, puffed out his chest and thumped his fisted right hand into the palm of his left with a steely look of determination. "No. I won't believe it. Absolutely not. Auralia can't be that snotty jerk. It's just a coincidence. So what if he looks exactly like Auralia? There can only be so many faces in the world. Sooner or later someone's going to wind up looking like someone else, right? Yes, it's purely elementary, Murata!" he said, laughing quite manically.

Beside him, Murata was nodding sagely. "That's the spirit, Shibuya. Even though your logic is flawed and you're clearly in denial, I, Murata Ken, will endlessly support you as your most treasured best friend."

Yuuri faltered, his left eyebrow twitching. "Ahh.. Thanks. I think."

"Oh look, and here's the perfect opportunity to put your theory to the test. Good afternoon, von Bielefeld!"

Murata waved cheerfully over Yuuri's shoulder, who instantly froze and let out a small noise that sounded like a cat being strangled. Turning around, his dark eyes rested on the figure of Wolfram von Bielefeld across the path. The blonde boy was dressed in white from head to toe in clothes Yuuri recognised as the protective uniform of a fencer. The boy paused and turned towards them, his brilliant green eyes narrowed. But regardless of what seemed to be a perpetual haughty scowl marring his delicate features, Wolfram was nothing short of beautiful and Yuuri felt that realisation like a kick in the gut. He flushed darkly and shook his head quickly, hoping that Murata wouldn't notice how flustered he was.

_'He really is Auralia,'_ his inner monologue lamented, miserably. _'No doubt. No doubt at all…_damnit_.'_

"Class President," Wolfram nodded shortly in greeting, his tone stiff and cold. His gaze shifted to Yuuri, momentarily puzzled. Then he sneered as recognition hit him and tossed his blonde head arrogantly. "Ah. It's the pervert from this morning."

Yuuri's eyebrow twitched in irritation, but he forced a smile regardless. "H-Hello, von Bielefeld. Er, that's an, um, interesting name. Very unusual for around here." That's right, he congratulated himself mentally, you can manage pleasant conversation. "Your name is difficult to pronounce though, so how about I just call you Wolfram? Or Wolf for short-"

But Wolfram cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. "The only reason it's difficult for you to pronounce is because your crude low class tongue couldn't talk its way out of a paper bag."

Yuuri frowned. "Look, just because I ..._mistook_ you for someone else and did something a little awkward doesn't mean you should be so rude."

Wolfram huffed. "I wasn't being rude. I was being honest." He thrust a finger at Yuuri, imperiously. "And you're a pervert, so don't preach to me."

Yuuri's cheeks flushed crimson. "Stop calling me a pervert! People are going to hear you!"

The boy snorted. "Good. People should have fair warning before you roll your greasy groping fingers all over them."

"Greasy...fingers..." Yuuri repeated, barely audible. He could feel the dull flames of anger kindling and spitting in the pit of his stomach in the face of Wolfram's infuriating smirk. _'Who does this brat think he is?'_

"Now, now girls, calm down. You're both pretty," Murata said with raised palms, sweating slightly. "How about we all go for a nice refreshing drink, eh? Von Bielefeld is new to the area and I'm sure he'd appreciate a tour-"

"Who is this Auralia anyway?" Wolfram interjected again, looking coolly interested. His upper lip curled into a mocking sneer. "Some dating game character, I'll bet."

"Of course not!" Yuuri protested. "Auralia is ...she's sort've...i-it's none of your busi-"

"Auralia is Shibuya-kun's beloved ex-girlfriend," Murata explained conversationally.

"Murata!"

"Ohh?" Wolfram hummed, looking mildly interested. "So you're a homo but you had a girlfriend once?"

Something snapped inside Yuuri at that remark. The injustice of the entire situation! For Auralia, _his Auralia_, to have been reborn into this guy's body - this stuck up, arrogant, mouthy little pretty boy - was inconceivably unfair. Yuuri was clenching his fists so tight that his nails were cutting into his palms and he could feel his temper beginning to crack, when-

"Shibuya-kun!"

All three boys turned towards the voice. A girl was running across an open sports field towards them, waving a tennis racket in the air to catch their attention. Yuuri felt a wave of relief wash over him - a distraction was definitely what he needed right now, and his childhood friend was always a welcome distraction.

"Hashimoto!" he greeted, grinning through tears of relief. "Ahh thank goodness!"

"Oi, Shibuya-kun, how many times have I told you to call me Asami?" the girl said in a demanding tone, hands on hips.

Yuuri pouted. "I don't give you into trouble when you call me Shibuya, do I?"

"Yes, but I prefer Shibuya. It's a much nicer name than Yuuri. Murata agrees with me. Don't you, Murata?"

The latter grinned wickedly. "Actually I prefer Shibuya Yuuri Harajuku Fuuri."

Yuuri sighed. It was no good arguing with Hashimoto; she was as stubborn as a mule. Normally Yuuri was a nervous wreck around girls. He knew lots about baseball and even more about history, but his expertise didn't extend to talking to girls. Hashimoto, on the other hand, had never been one to sit around waiting for someone else to make conversation. Upbeat and positive to a fault, she had demanded that Yuuri become her friend the day she and her family had moved next door to the Shibuya household five years previously. In all honesty, Yuuri had a hard time imagining her as a girl at all. She was pretty enough, especially clad as she was now in the cute blue and yellow trimmed white uniform of the tennis club. Her light brown hair was cut short just below her ears and her large eyes were always friendly. She wasn't the sort of girl who made your palms sweat and your heart jump into your mouth; rather, Yuuri had always thought of her as one of the guys.

"Oh? Who's this?" Hashimoto interrupted his train of thought. "_Ahhh_, is this the new boy?" she said excitedly and began walking boldly towards Wolfram on the other side of the path, who seemed to be regarding her with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty. Hashimoto held her hand out towards him, smiling kindly. "Hello, I'm Hashimoto Asami from class 2C, Shibuya-kun's neighbour."

"Pleased to meet you," the blonde replied, his voice distinctly softer now and for some reason that irked Yuuri far more than the boy's arrogant attitude.

"So you're new here, right?" Hashimoto continued. "I haven't seen you before on campus, so I suppose you're the one everyone has been talking about."

"Oh? I would have expected you to recognise him, Asami-chan," Murata piped in. "This is Wolfram von Bielefeld, our school's first celebrity, famed for having won Tokyo La La's prestigious teen idol award last year."

Yuuri was a little shocked to see Wolfram shift uncomfortably and avert his suddenly reddening face to the ground at Murata's flattery. He had expected the boy to take every opportunity to boast about his fame and celebrity status, but on the contrary – he seemed embarrassed by it.

"Ohh? That's so cool!" Hashimoto marvelled, gazing at Wolfram reverently. "I don't know much about fame or celebrities or anything like that, but to have achieved your dream at such a young age is really amazing." She smiled honestly. "You must have really worked hard to get where you are."

And then something curious happened. Wolfram's face turned scarlet red and he staggered frantically away from Hashimoto as if he'd just been told she was carrying the plague. Then, quivering and losing all semblance of composure, he turned on his heel and fled as if the hounds of hell were after him.

Yuuri stood with his two friends and watched Wolfram disappear into the indoor sport's building, varying degrees of surprise etched into their expressions.

"Ah." Murata sweated. "Perhaps he's been in the sun too long?"

**oOo**

The Von Spitzweg residence wasn't so much a house but a stately mansion, surrounded by large gardens that could almost contain his entire school campus. Why he had to attend such a low class school was beyond Wolfram, but his eldest brother and head of the family had demanded that Wolfram have something akin to normality in his life.

He exited the private car without waiting for the chauffeur to open the door, stormed up the stone steps and thrust open the front door.

"It's an outrage!" he bellowed to no one in particular, though instinct told him his little-big brother turned manager would be waiting to collect his coat and shoes in the grand hallway, as he did every day. He tore his jacket off and dumped it on the floor, fuming. "To think that I have to attend that filthy school – stomach it for another _two years._ The moment I stepped through the doors I was harassed and prodded by commoners and their sticky fingers. What on earth was Gwendal thinking, enrolling me in a vulgar school like that?"

The older man smiled patiently and closed the front door behind his little brother. "You shouldn't judge people or establishments by their wealth and social status, Wolfram," he chided gently. "Besides, your new school has an excellent grade average, ranks high on the league table and the faculty of arts is second to none. Surely that pleases you?"

Wolfram sniffed and ignored him, turning briskly towards the grand staircase in the centre of the hallway. "I'm going for a nap. Don't disturb me."

"Wolfram," Conrad began gently, reaching out a hand to rest on his little brother's shoulder, "if there's something upsetting you, we can talk-"

"I'm not upset," the younger boy snapped, pulling away. "I'm just tired. Dealing with constant stupidity is exhausting." He paused briefly on the first step, then asked, "Have you heard from Mother today?"

Conrad shook his head, smiling a little sadly. "Not yet. I'm sure she'll call later."

Wolfram nodded silently and without another word, climbed the remaining stairs and disappeared onto the second landing, leaving Conrad to collect his crumpled coat and shoes.

Conrad knew he was too soft on his little brother, but with their free-spirited mother continuously away on her cruise holidays and exotic globe-trotting jaunts for free love, Wolfram didn't exactly have a stable parental figure. Gwendal and Conrad had been lucky enough to have their father around growing up – their family had been small, but tight. Things were never quite the same again after their father passed away, even when their mother remarried and gave birth to Wolfram. Wolfram's father had left after only a year; by that time, Gwendal had become a high flying businessman and moved out of the family home, and their mother had looked abroad to distract her heartbreak. Wolfram had never really tasted the family life he and Gwendal had been lucky enough to sample, and so Conrad was the first to admit that he spoiled the boy. He was Wolfram's father, brother and manager; all roles he would cherish until the day his precious little brother no longer needed him, and if that meant dealing with his sullen spells and temper tantrums from time to time (slash, _every day_) then so be it.

Conrad Weller had been putting up with Wolfram's temper for two lifetimes, after all.

**oOo**

Wolfram lay on his bed with his pillow pressed to his heated face. He hated this place. The town was so quiet – _too_ quiet compared to bustling Tokyo. He missed the distant sound of cars and the roar of bus engines; the continual nightly hum of clubs, karaoke bars and the buzz of street chatter wafting up to his penthouse apartment – the city lullaby that had soothed and lulled him to sleep every night for as long as he could remember. Aside from Conrad, his family had always been scattered, but at least when he lived in Tokyo, Gwendal was in the same general geographical location. If he had wanted to see his elder brother then, it would have only taken a half hour's drive through the city. But out here in this backwater town, it would take 3 hours at least to reach him.

Change, thought Wolfram, was definitely overrated, but his fierce pride wouldn't dare let his elder brother hear his complaints. He would grin and bear it, despite the shame. After all, it was only two years. Two years and he would be an adult, free to do as he pleased without Conrad looking over his shoulder all the time or Gwendal ordering him to attend poorly constructed commoner schools. At the thought of his new school his mind wandered to the irritating encounter that morning with… what was his name again? Ah yes, Shibuya Yuuri the wimpy pervert.

Wolfram fumed, clutching the pillow tightly to his chest. People were always mistaking him for a girl. No matter how passionate he was about singing, how much a part of his very soul performing was, deep down Wolfram knew with a bitter clarity that his pretty looks were responsible for propelling him to his high ranking place in the music industry. Wolfram hated that fact more than anything else in the world. Shibuya Yuuri would pay for reminding him.

_"You must have really worked hard to get where you are."_

Wolfram blushed a brilliant shade of red. The words had sprung into his mind without prompting and caused his heart to thump against his chest with surprising vigour. That girl… At first nothing had seemed particularly special about Hashimoto Asami, but the moment she had spoken to him, her words had touched a nerve. No one had ever taken an interest or sounded so genuinely impressed by the work Wolfram had put into his music career before. The girls he normally encountered only ever wanted to hear about the glamorous life he led and the myriad celebrities he partied with, but those kinds of things rarely took Wolfram's interest. Music was his love, not the shallow pool of fame.

"Hashimoto Asami…" he whispered, testing the name on his lips. It was a good name; a pleasant name to the ear. Saying it out loud somehow made his heart beat faster. He frowned and squeezed the pillow tightly. His head felt a bit dizzy when he thought of her; not exactly an unpleasant sensation, but even so…

Vaguely, he wondered what Yuuri the wimp was doing at that moment. Hashimoto had said she lived next door to him. Perhaps she was over there now. Perhaps she was having dinner with him. Maybe she went there every night – maybe she and Yuuri walked to school together – maybe that perverted stupid wimp waited at the gates for her after school – perhaps they'd pause by the riverbank on their way home to watch the sun go down, just like Wolfram had seen couples do in films before, hand in hand, gazing shyly into each other's eyes-

Something in Wolfram snapped at that and a wave of intense jealousy poured through his veins. "That no good lecherous perverted _wimp!_" he fumed, tearing his goose-feather pillow in two, looking slightly deranged as a thousand or more tiny feathers flew around him. He sat bolt upright in bed, panting with rage. "Shibuya Yuuri…I swear I'm going to make your life a living hell. I won't lose Hashimoto Asami to the likes of you!"

**oOo**

On the other side of town, in a quaint two floored family home, Shibuya Yuuri shivered and sneezed violently.

"Gahh," he sniffed, "who's talking about me?"

* * *

**A/N:** Btw, I meant to add at the beginning that Urusei Pompeii fanart is up on my Deviantart if you fancy checking it out. Thank you for reading, new chapter soon! Reviews are always welcome and very much appreciated. :D


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